Eight Weeks
by fragrantfields
Summary: Continuing prequel to HBO's "Deadwood". Time is early 1870s. Al, Dan, and the rest return to Virginia City. Al finds Trixie in far different circumstances from which he left her. A fragile trust is shattered while other bonds are beginning to form.
1. Chapter 1

fandom: Deadwood  
>length: 2530 words<br>Gen prequel  
>Rated M for language, references to prostitution, violence<br>Al/Trixie, Dan, Jewel  
>Warnings: violence, language, dysfunctional but realistic pimpprostitute interaction

Summary: Time is early 1870s. Al, Dan, and the rest return to Virginia City. Al finds Trixie in far different circumstances from which he left her, and all is far from well.

**Eight Weeks  
>Part 1<strong>

It took eight weeks for Al and the others to get back to Virginia City. He could have done it in six, but a decent looking stagecoach with one driver and a motley-looking family appearing to be two daughters, their crippled mother, and their scholarly-looking father was so little threat as to be almost invisible. Few fellow travelers gave them a second look, other than to try and get around their slower pace.

Which suited Al Swearengen just fine. Three times, twice on side roads not far off of the main, their coach was briefly noted, then dismissed as harmless by other travelers carrying goods and coin.

The first two coaches had been sensible, handing over their cash and gold to the armed masked men by the crude roadblocks. Only the last robbery had turned violent. _Handy with a gun and a blade_, Al thought as he helped Dan load the last set of saddlebags and strong-box.

"How much you think we got?"

"We'll tally up when we get to town, Dan. I'm ready to get off the road._" And the women are gettin' jittery and contentious, which is getting' fuckin' tiresome._

"Cheer up, girls. We're almost home." He relaxed into his seat as they made good time down the road. A brief stop for comfort and watering the horses, and they drove into Virginia City in time for supper, streets incredibly crowded, torches lighting up the main thoroughfare as the dark came on.

"See that joint?" He pointed out the side window. "That's where Trixie's workin' out of right now."

Jewel perked up at that. "Think she'll remember me?"

Al nodded tiredly. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she will. You'd been working in the kitchen for some time before I took her out of there."

Dan got the horses settled at the livery while Al arranged for two more rooms at the Silver Queen. The clerk wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Something wrong, pal?"

"No sir. Just good to see you back, is all. Your lady friend'll be glad to see you're back, too." The young man in his worn clerk's suit looked at him with some trepidation.

Al looked at him with flat eyes. "What do you mean?"

The man began wishing he'd kept his mouth shut." Been some changes over where she works, since Miss Daisy passed."

Al's look darkened. "You're quickly comin' up on your last chance to explain yourself before I consider a more direct avenue."

"The girl you…Miss Trixie…she looks like things went rough for her a time or two, is all."

"She dead?"

"No sir!"

"She hurt bad enough for you to call a doctor? Or the law?"

"The young man began to sweat. "She didn't say nothing about needing a doctor. Nor a lawman."

_Cagey bastard's hiding something_. "Give me the fuckin' keys and shut the fuck up unless you can think of something useful to say. But first, go bring me up a few bottles of whiskey."

He turned towards the stairs, leading the three women up to their rooms, Wanda and Dolly helping Jewel with the steps. Unlocking their door, next to his and Trixie's rooms, he instructed them to start settling in.

"Huh." _Fuckin' strange._

He looked around his rooms. The place had a sour, stale smell. Remains of a meal at least three days old were on a side table, circled by lazy flies. No smell of soap or cigarettes was in the air. A pile of dirty women's clothes were on the floor by the bed.

He put up his loot where a prying eye would have to work some to find it, then locked the door behind him, meeting Dan on the stairs. "Stow your gear and come with me. Bring along whatever you best work with in a crowd."

Dan joined him at the foot of the stairs in minutes and they headed towards the saloon.

.

"You go in and start looking for a blonde, about your age, slim, tits on the small side, wavy long hair. Pretty. Blue eyes. Looks like she'd bite your head off as soon as look at you. Find her, tell her I'm outside."

He watched Dan walk in, itching to be there himself. Still, if anything wrong was going on, he'd prefer the wrong-doer not spot him straight off. Time enough for that once he knew where she was.

"I'll be right back, ma'am. Need to take a piss first." Al watched Dan's broad-backed silhouette in the doorway.

"Well?"

"I think I seen her. She's dressed fancier than the other girls, didn't seem to be takin' no tricks right this minute." Dan looked uneasy, looking down and around Al.

"But…?"

"She got something wrong with her like your Jewel? Crippled some kind of way?"

The air seemed to thin out right then, it felt like to Dan.

"Why do you ask?"

Dan's eyes darted back and forth between the saloon and the man next to him.

"She's movin' kinda funny. Slow-like, kindly…_stiff._ She's over by the back faro table.

Al looked into the interior of the saloon, the hot dark air, scented with smoke, beer and whiskey, spilling out the door.

"Keep close, and watch my fuckin' back."

He took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his mug, then swung through the door. Keeping his eye on the bartender, he forced himself to not look around for Trixie.

"Evening, my good man. Announce to Miss Daisy that Al Swearengen has returned to finish our business, and pour me a drink."

The bartender's hand shook slightly as he poured out a shot. "Uh…Daisy took sick some weeks ago."

Al affected a concerned look. "I hope that good woman is doin' better now."

"Um..I'm sorry to say she passed. Elijah's running the place now."

"Elijah." Al drew out the name, stroking his chin. "I don't believe I've met him."

"Daisy's son. Elijah Winters. He's running the place now." The bartender's expression was carefully neutral as he spoke.

Al took a long, slow look around the business areas of the saloon_. Not very fuckin' well_. He noted the barkeep pocketing part of the bill in his apron. What looked to be a crooked card game was going on to his left. Hand signals were subtly thrown between players at dice.

"Hey, handsome. Lookin' for company?" He looked down at the petite blowsy whore at his side. He turned away from the room.

"Always, honey. What's a good time with you run?"

She sidled closer. "Six, if you pay here where my boss can see. Four if you meet me out that side door when I take my break."

He forced a laugh. "You little devil." He stroked her face. "Cuttin' your boss outa the action, huh?"

Her face grew hard. "He don't take care of me, why should I play straight with him? Girl's gotta look out for herself, right?" She softened again. "Don't worry, sugar. He don't really notice what's going on out here. He's all up in his new honey's snatch."

He thought he heard a soft "God help her" under the girl's breath.

"Interesting. The new honey out on the floor?"

"Just barely. That's her in the back, by the office." She ran her hand up his leg. "Trust me, I'll show you a better time than that one." She leaned against him. Slipping her blouse down as enticement, she rubbed against him until he looked down. He saw greenish-yellow bruises shaped like fingertips above her breasts and around her nipples. Purplish ones, fresher, looked like teeth marks. He looked up at her, all flirtation gone.

"What happened to you? Fuckin' mauled, you look."

She twitched her blouse up, covering the marks. She looked away, oddly embarrassed for a saloon whore. "I was his old "honey"."

She gave him a brittle smile. "See why I don't much mind cuttin' my boss out of his action? I got these for bein' his favorite."

His hand itched to get to his blade. "Anybody watchin' us?"

"Nobody that matters."

He put six dollars on the bar, and put one hand on the girl's hip, turning her further away from the crowded room. "Act like you're rubbing my prick."

As she moved closer, one hand hidden below the bar at his crotch, he palmed a tenner and put it in her hand. "Don't look at the bill."

A couple of grinds against his thigh, and the tenner had disappeared under her clothes.

He bent over as if to kiss her ear. "Wait a minute, then escort the new girl over to me."

She giggled and hugged him, mouth at his neck, whispering, "If something happens and the boss gets crazy, it'll come down on me, he figures I had anything to do with it." He could hear the fear in her voice.

He staggered a bit as if the drink and the girl had put him off-balance, turning her in his arms so she was looking over his shoulder at the door. "See the bear-lookin' man with the long hair? He's with me. Your boss got anybody looks like him?"

"Them that looked like that went to the joint west of town, didn't want to work for him."

He looked down at the bruised whore, and brought his mouth near her ear again. "You think anything's getting' ready to jump, come find us at the Silver Queen Hotel." She breathed against his cheek and he felt her nod against his skin.

She grinned and said more loudly, "Whatever you want, sugar." She moved out of his arms and made her way to the back tables.

Al met Dan's eyes through the open door and signaled him to be on the ready. When he turned back around, Trixie was almost in front of him. Her steps were unsteady and stiff. Her eyes widened as she saw him. There was no smile.

"You took your sweet fuckin' time gettin' back." Her voice was unsteady and thin.

Her hair was arranged in curls on the top of her head, held with a few fake jeweled combs. Sparkly pendants and chains tangled over the high lace neck of her bodice. Her dress was a chocolate brown satin, at odds with her coloring and eyes. Snug sleeves covered her arms and dripped lace over her wrists.

The finery was nothing like the other whores wore—nothing like any whore Al knew of would wear. Nothing like Trixie would have chosen for herself, either. Odd choices all around and completely unsuited, although it did not look like it had been cheap. _What kind of a pimp covers up every square inch of a comely whore's skin?_ Then he thought of the petite girl's marks.

"You go on over to that man at the door."

No argument or questioning came from her as she slowly moved towards Dan.

"That one's special."

He turned and looked at the pale pudgy man in front of him, scraggly beard growing out over a weak chin.

"I know."

"I mean, you want her, you have to make special arrangements with me."

Oh? And you are…?"

"Elijah Winters, owner. That's one of my special girls."

"Winters…didn't a Daisy Winters own this joint some time back?" Al kept his face bland as cream.

"My mother, yes. She died a few months ago."

"Oh? Perhaps I misremember…I thought when I was in here eight weeks ago, she was fit as a fiddle. Fit enough to enter into a business arrangement with me. But you say she died a few months ago…I confess I'm...perplexed." A smarter, more cautious man would have caught the dangerous tone underlying the words. Elijah was neither.

"Well, that's neither here nor there, is it? The point is, anyone wanting that lady's time has to make special, and expensive, arrangements through me personally."

Al made a subtle move with his right hand, his body blocking his actions from anyone looking in their direction.

"I have another point. That would be the point resting on the biggest artery in your body below the waist. Move or call out and you'll bleed out before anyone gets close enough to interfere."

The bar stool behind the man kept him from pulling away easily. The cold dead stare, or perhaps his own inadequacies, kept him from calling out or fighting back, as droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.

"I paid good money to this establishment eight weeks ago for my principle whore to work out of this joint, splitting her take with the house, the house providin' clientele and a safe fuckin' environment."

He punctuated his words with little jabs of the point of his knife. "There should be a signed paper in your mother's effects, along with the fee I paid."

"I…I know of no such—" The pudgy man began sweating more profusely.

"Stop talking, Elijah."

The man stood there, silent and reeking of fear.

"I'm takin' Trixie with me. Whether you find any papers or not is nothing to me. I'm putting my knife away…for now…and walkin' out of here. You have anything else to say on this, come find me at the Silver Queen Hotel." He looked around the room at the sullen whores and shady dealers and smiled.

"Bring whoever you feel you might need to, to feel safe. Short of diggin' up your mother, I mean."

He turned his back on the shaken man and walked out, fairly certain that the only person who would have been interested in being the man's second was dead and buried. The stillness of the crowd seemed to confirm his thoughts. He caught a glimpse of the bruised petite whore, standing by the back hall with a watchful eye on her boss.

Trixie was standing by Dan when he walked out, eyes dull as she looked up at him. Dan shot a worried look at Al. "She don't look right, boss."

"No, she doesn't. You watch behind me for any action coming out of that place."

Trixie winced when he put an arm around her waist to help her walk. When he tried to put her arm over his shoulder to take some of the weight off her feet, she gasped and closed her eyes. He dropped her arm and circled her waist again as they slowly made their way to the hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

fandom: Deadwood  
>Gen prequel<br>Rated M for language, references to prostitution, violence  
>AlTrixie, Dan, Jewel  
>Warnings: violence, language, dysfunctional but realistic pimpprostitute interaction

Summary: Time is early 1870s. Al and Dan tend to Trixie's physical pain as her experiences as the favorite of a sadistic pimp become clear. Dan has unsuspected skills; Al has unexpected heartache, almost successfully concealed, as he sees the unspoken contract between him and Trixie badly battered.

"Lay her down easy."

Dan had had to carry her up the stairs, her eyes dull behind half-closed lids and leaking tears as he moved her. He gently laid her down on Al's bed.

"You want me to call the others?"

"No, not yet. She's already spooked enough."

Dan wasn't sure he'd call her dazed pain-ridden demeanor "spooked", but he figured he'd let that alone for now.

"Well, you want my opinion, she's high as all get-out."

Al sighed. "She does like her laudanum."

"That don't look like a doper's high to me. That looks like she got dosed by somebody for some kinda pain or injury."

Al looked at the long-haired brutish man. "What do you know of medicine and the like, that makes you have an opinion on every fuckin' thing havin' to do with the corporeal?"

Dan drew back a bit with caution, not yet sure he was reading Al correctly. "My Ma and my oldest sister were midwives, did other healin' besides. Folks around us never had no real doctor. Seen a lot on our kitchen table, before I left out."

"Huh." He shook away an image of Dan catching a newborn from between its mother's legs. _Maybe a newborn calf..._ "Well, let's get this get-up off her, see what we're dealing with."

Trixie's eyes remained glazed and unfocused while they worked, only moving to squint shut with pain a few times.

Taking her dress off revealed old and new bruises along her upper arms and neck, a few scattered along her shins. The two men looked at each other. Al turned his eyes back to her body, as if trying to memorize their color and shape. Dan took a respectful step back to allow Al room to remove her chemise and drawers. Al waved for Dan to continue as he held her hand while she whimpered.

"Holy Jesus, Christ a 'mighty."

Trixie had bruising similar to the petite whore over her breasts and waist. Larger bruises, almost like sunbursts, colored her stomach. He held her still as Dan gently turned her on her side.

"That motherless fuckin' cunt," Al swore as he saw her back. He was halfway expecting whip marks or such, having run into flagellants a few times in his career and having no trouble imagining Winters catering to such. But this wasn't the work of a trick with that particular specialty. Arrayed on her back were bruises that looked to have come from fist or boot toe. Most were the brownish gray of old bruises on the fade. His chest tightened as he realized she would've had to have been on the floor to have gotten some of the mottled marks, being kicked like a dog.

"You were gone so long."

She was speaking in a low whisper, accusation and sadness intertwined in her tone. Her eyes stayed closed, her lashes sticky with drying tears.

He didn't speak, but stroked her hair.

Dan fidgeted at her feet, uncertain how to proceed.

"What?" Al barked harsher than he realized.

"Boss…I think she needs to have her…her privates seen to."

Al closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. He looked at the expanse of skin that had been cream-colored with a sprinkling of freckles the last time he saw her. As bad as the bruising was, it was possible that wasn't the worst of it. She whimpered and he realized he was squeezing her hand harder than he thought. Loosening his grip, he looked at Dan.

"You know anything on that score?"

Dan's face turned a shade ruddier. "I helped my Ma'n them a few times. I could get one of the girls…"

"Yes or no, Dan. You got any experience doctoring snatch?"

He sighed. "I guess I can tell well enough if it's something can be handled here, or if we need to go find a real doctor."

"Go ahead then." He pulled Trixie's head closer to his chest, making soothing sounds when she gritted her teeth and gasped.

Dan got up twice to go get clean water from the washbasin and pitcher by the bed, tearing a sheet with his knife for clean cloths. He finally stood and washed his hands a last time. All embarrassment had left him as he touched her flesh with a clinical sympathy.

"Well?"

"She's been used hard fore and aft, and not let to take care of herself like she should, looks like to me. Don't seem nothing's trying to infect, near as I can tell. Got a fair amount of bruising on her. All in all, the cocksucker who did this needs his balls tore off, but…I've seen worse. Not sayin' she shouldn't have a real doctor look at her, but what tears I did see are almost healed. Don't seem like she got a dose of nothing, far as that goes."

Al looked at him with a new respect. "You've got a good hand on you for this. Good nature for it, too."

Dan gave him a look of alarm. "This ain't my chosen line, if you've thoughts in that direction."

"Still, good to know all your skills ain't in one basket. Don't worry yourself, Dan. I got plenty of use for your other skills and abilities, some of which I imagine I'll ask you to use before the week is out."

He laid Trixie back down, now looking to be in a more natural sleep.

"You don't think she was high from her own volition?"

"You know her and I don't, Al, but looks like to me somebody, probably that weak-chinned cocksucker, was givin' her enough to work through the pain. She was dosing her own self, I'd have thought she'd been out of it all together. If I was her, I'd be hittin' the dope hard enough to have trouble being upright at all."

Dan finished drying his hands, thought about re-dressing her, then decided he had taken all the familiarities with this one he cared to. He wasn't sure what Al had meant by her bein' his "principle whore", but he looked for all the world like a man wantin' to rock a suffering child to sleep. Strange behavior for a pimp, and he doubted Al would appreciate Dan's bearing witness to that oddity. He heard a soft "_Thanks, Dan_" as he closed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Continuing prequel: Al/Trixie, Dan  
>R for language, violence, suggested rape<br>warning for intimate violence, miscarriage, suicide (minor character)

Summary: Trixie lashes out, confronting Al with his role in her pain. Absolution is neither sought nor granted. Al wrestles with triggers of his own.

.

Eight Weeks (part 3)

.

He could tell she was awake. She tried to keep her breathing even and slow, but he could feel her heartbeat quicken, felt it through her back. He wasn't sure how much she remembered of the previous day, or even if she knew where she was. Or who was behind her on the bed.

"Trixie." He saw her shoulders jerk at his voice but she stayed facing the far wall.

He touched her shoulder. "Trixie, it's me." She jerked her shoulder away from his hand. He wasn't sure what still hurt and was reluctant to pull her to face him. Sighing, he got up and went around to her side of the bed, kneeling by her head. Her eyes were open and still, no expression on her face.

"Trixie." He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. "You remember last night? You know where you are?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Trixie, I took you outa that joint last night. You're back with me now."

She closed her eyes again. "You don't matter, either."

She talked to Jewel some. She spoke to Dolly when she came into the room to help Jewel bring up a tray from the restaurant downstairs. She spoke to Wanda when Wanda brought her some dope. She even spoke civilly to Dan when he diffidently asked if she wanted him to send for a doctor. All she had for Al were dead eyes and a still tongue.

Al gave up for the time being and spent days at Daisy's joint. By the end of the week, and with some help from Dan, Elijah Winters had agreed to turn over a substantial damage fee for Trixie and a weekly payment to Al for the privilege of keeping his guts on the inside of his skin.

After their business was concluded, Dan administered a careful beating where the employees could see, going with maximum pain for the least physical damage done. He left Elijah more or less whole in body but cowed and fearful in spirit. Not the least damage was Elijah seeing that all of his employees seemed content to stand back and watch the show, nodding appreciatively when Dan landed a particularly painful blow.

The blowsy whore, Cora, seemed willing and able to take position as whore-mistress, with a small advance on her pay for clothes fitting her new station. She pointed out which dealers were redeemable and which would most likely try further graft. Staff accepted her as manager well enough, backed with Al's support and Dan's enforcement.

Before the end of that business day, Al was at the Virginia City branch of the Bank of California, making a hefty deposit from the silver, gold, and cash Elijah had turned over to him as the first installment on his on-going protection. None of the saloon staff that mattered had objections to his handling the tills, as their take returned to accepted percentages.

Daisy's saloon began returning to the quality it had exhibited when its owner had been alive. Dolly and Wanda worked evenings there under Cora's supervision, Dan and a young Rebel boy named Johnny providing protection and muscle. Most nights, they never saw a sign that Elijah existed save for the occasional call for a bottle to be brought to his office.

Al's income from running a saloon, albeit at a distance, was bolstered by Dan's night thieving, profitable and generally bloodless. Lone miners, fuddled with drink, passed over purses with little fight, reckoning that the next day would replenish their pockets. To many in Virginia City, swelling like ticks on the Comstock strike, robbery was a tax on the folly of being abroad in the night, alone.

Matters did not go so smoothly in Al's rooms. Trixie was more lively, but he could tell steam was building up badly, with no bleeding off by action or word towards him. The big blow came on the fifth night he was back in town.

.


	4. Chapter 4 and End

Continuing prequel: Al/Trixie, Dan  
>M for language, violence, suggested rape<br>warning for intimate violence, miscarriage, suicide (minor character)

Summary: Trixie lashes out, confronting Al with his role in her pain. Absolution is neither sought nor granted. Al wrestles with triggers of his own.

.

**Eight Weeks, Part 4 (end)**

**.**

He had gone to bed as was his usual habit, lying on his back, Trixie's back turned towards him. He didn't try to talk to her that night; tired by the day's work, frustrated by her lack of response to his attempts at talking, he lay silent and still. He heard rustling as she got out of bed and struck a match to light the oil lamp on her bedside table.

In the yellow lamp-light he saw her bend by the bed. His eyebrows rose as he watched her take a tiny purse gun out from under the mattress and aim it at his chest. Her hand was shaking, her lips tight with anger. It was the most emotion he'd seen from her since his return, and it was pointed straight at him.

"You gonna tell me what this is about?"

"You lying, deceiving son of a bitch."

He nodded at that. "No argument there. But specifically, what's makin' you hold a gun on me _tonight?_"

Her eyes were fairly throwing sparks off in fury." You left me there to fuckin' die, you heartless prick! Die alone and scared and not knowin' why you did it."

"I didn't know the old lady was poorly." He spoke very calmly, relieved that she was finally talking, even if it had taken her pulling a gun on him to get things started.

"You said _six weeks_. You said it might be less. I kept holding on, every fuckin' day thinkin' "today's the day Al's gonna come through that door and all this'll stop.""

"Things got complicated in Chicago. And we got fuckin' robbed along the way, almost got fuckin' killed, so it ain't like it was a bed of roses for me, either."

"You got robbed weeks ago, you fuckin' Judas. Seems like you spent a good two weeks acting like road agents with a coachful of scared women."

His own temper was rising now. "Yeah, and the fuckin' proceeds are lettin' me take things easy on you while you get over whatever the fuck you need to get over."

She snorted. "Which, you didn't know at the fuckin' time in question, was my condition, so that don't hold much water as an excuse."

He sighed. "So, what are you gonna do here, Trixie? Because I have to tell you, I _will_ do what I need to, to keep you from getting close enough for that toy to do any mortal damage.

"Wounded, I can't guarantee I won't come back at you, you put me in any considerable pain. If I pass out, when Dan comes through the door, I won't be able to stop him from maybe putting you down, then the girls and Jewel will be further distressed..."

He could see her lip trembling as she held the gun with both hands to steady it. "You can't imagine what I've been through."

Dark green eyes looked into icy blue ones. "I bet I can, if you'll tell me what you suffered. I can imagine pretty fuckin' well from how you looked the night I got you out of there. Tell me what you can, I'll wager you that gun I can imagine your trials pretty fuckin' accurately."

She took a deep breath, lowering the gun a fraction.

"I missed my courses two weeks after you left. Started puking two weeks after that."

He nodded. They'd been through this before.

The gun was down by her side now. "By that time, Daisy had passed and that cocksucker was in charge. First thing he did, he made the whores pay for their meals and the like."

"Out of the gross?"

"Out of their portion, after the house cut."

He frowned. He was surprised the man had retained any whores at all. He remembered Cora's suggestion that their fuck be off the books. He now understood her position.

"Next thing to go was doctor visits. Said if we was sick, we could doctor ourselves or pay our own money for a doc."

"Had you enough for a midwife?" He remembered the marks on her stomach and thought he already knew the answer.

She sat on the bed, her back to him, head bowed, still holding the gun in her lap.

"By that time, between meals and laudanum, which I had to buy at premium from _his_fuckin' seller, I didn't have a goddamn dime of my own. So…I went to him."

Her shoulders were stiff and tight, a slight tremble jerking through them. "He said he'd take care of it."

He thought he'd prefer taking a bullet in the shoulder rather than go through this account, but he owed her his attention. He knew the finish without her saying, hated saying the words out loud.

"And he started beatin' on you, to hurt you enough for you to lose it that way." He touched her arm tentatively.

She whirled up from the bed at his touch, tears streaking her face. All the terror and pain she had felt, bent double, then lying on the floor, taking punches, then kicks, bladder giving way, one of his men blocking the door and keeping her from getting up, came out in a poisonous stream of invective. She held back nothing.

The overpowering shame of not being able to help herself, the giving up, holding her arms over her face and head, were as vivid as the night it happened. She could still feel the final grief over the betrayal by the man who'd been her protector for years, knowing that she was completely alone, as she got to her feet, blood leaking, dress soaked with urine, unable to stand up straight.

The man at the door had laughed as she held onto a chair, then the desk, making her way out of the office, bright glow of humiliation all around her as she felt the stares of customers and workers. The weak-chinned bastard who'd beat her had looked at her with a mixture of interest and disturbing lust, like a child finding a strange new toy which he intended to make his favorite. What her words couldn't convey was shown in her face and posture as she choked out her memories piece by piece.

Al listened to the barely coherent account that got louder and more disjointed as she went on. He kept a watchful eye on her gun. He could tell her eyes weren't seeing him; she was back in that office, that building, reliving what she'd been through. His face colored with his own shame as she talked.

He stopped watching her gun hand as his own gut clenched with memories of punches and restraining hands, of watching lust rise in the eyes of an assailant and knowing there would be no help for it. An old dread that came upon him so clear, he missed the movement of her hand. The tiny gun hit him in the forehead before he could jerk away.

_"Fuck!"_

He could feel blood dripping towards his eye as he looked at Trixie, bent over and arms wrapped around her shaking body, crying big gulping sobs. He swiped at his forehead and picked up the thrown gun, tucking it into the side table before he got out of bed and went to her.

She jerked as he put his arms around her, relaxing by tiny increments as he stood there, both swaying in a soothing rocking motion, calling each other foul names in gentle tones as they calmed themselves and each other. She was almost breathing normally when a heavy hand knocked at the door.

"Boss? You okay?"

Al left Trixie standing by the bed, arms wrapped around herself, and opened the door. Dan's bulk filled the space.

"What the hell happened in here? I heard yellin' and…_shit! _You're bleeding! She did that?"

"Just a scratch. We've been talkin' through her stay at Daisy's after Elijah came on. Got all emotional on me."

Dan looked over Al's shoulder at the uncertain-looking woman, rubbing her arms below the short sleeves of her nightshift, nose running, eyes red.

"Looks like." _Couldn't say he blamed her, after what he'd seen._

Al moved Dan closer to the door, speaking softly. "I need you to run an errand. Go over to Daisy's, ask to see Elijah."

"Want me to put some more hurt on him, boss?" He sounded eager and frighteningly hopeful.

"No. Give him a message and then leave immediately."

Dan gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged. "Okay. What's the message?"

"Tell him, "It was _his_. He'll be here first light to discuss it." Then turn around and leave. Don't make eye contact with the cocksucker."

"You mean she—"

"I don't mean nothin' other than I'd have him _told_ that, exactly how I described."

Dan's look of sympathy irritated him. "A statement doesn't have to be factual to be effective, a truism that's worked well for us both. Now go on."

Dan nodded and backed out as Al shut the door.

A small hand slipped into his. Trixie led him back to bed, sitting him down as she wiped the blood off his brow with a damp cloth.

"The bleedin' stopped."

She was calm but unsmiling.

"You came back here some. To the hotel." A statement, not a question.

"Yeah, with him or one of his men."

"You ask anybody to help you?"

She flared up at that. "You tryin' to say it was my fault, I didn't ask for help fuckin' _good enough_?"

"Didn't mean that at all. But if you asked and were refused, I'd want to know about it."

She looked away. "I figured by then it'd make things worse. And if I'd asked and gotten told "No"…I couldn't go through being let down." She looked back at him. "_Again._"

"I take your point." His gaze stayed steady, ignoring how that last word had stung. He pushed her hand away and dropped the bloodied cloth on the floor, standing up.

"Take your nightgown off."

She untied the top ribbon and dropped her shift around her feet, eyes on his face.

_She deserves me being witness to her hurt while she's awake_, he thought.

He turned her this way and that, running his hands gently over her flanks and back, breasts and belly.

"Faded right much since that first night I saw you."

"Jewel's been makin' me eat liver and God knows what else, to build up my healing, she says. Dolly's been rubbin' lotion on my back where I can't reach."

"All right." He withdrew his hand. "Come back to bed."

She picked up her shift and held it in her hand. "On, or off?"

She still looked small and solemn. He wondered for a moment why she was asking him, like she couldn't make her own decisions about fuckin' nightwear. _Like she was afraid of getting it wrong._ He still remembered that feeling, decades later.

"Your choice, whatever suits you."

He lay down again as she blew out the light. She curled into his chest and stilled. He could tell by her skin's heat that she'd left her shift off. So much he couldn't, or wouldn't bring himself to say, not even for her. But he could say, maybe, enough to give some comfort.

He spoke quietly, mouth by her ear. "You felt abandoned, bereft back there. Like the one person you thought you could count on had betrayed you, allowed you to be hurt. Maybe it got you thinkin' they were the _instrument_of the hurt."

She nodded. She thought she felt his chest tighten under her cheek. She waited.

"That's a real bad fuckin' feeling. Not much can beat that for pain."

She nodded again against his chest.

"I'm not going to say "I'm sorry" or any kind of bullshit apology, as I'd not have you struggling with whether or not to forgive me, thinkin' on the rights and wrongs of it all."

She grew still again. She could feel his heart beating slow and steady. His chest hitched again.

"I will tell you this. I believe people, includin' you, can find their own way past something like this, come out knowing the world and themselves more keenly because of it."

He could feel her eyes on him as she lifted her head in the darkness.

"I don't think I'll ever trust you again like I did before," she whispered.

He rubbed her back, careful to avoid the hurt places.

"I know."

They lay silent for a minute.

He took a deep breath, looking for the right words. "I'd not have had this happen to you, had I a say in the matter."

"I know," she echoed.

He let himself enjoy the scent of her hair while he told himself he'd never let her down like this again. He couldn't tell himself he'd keep her safe from harm, knowing the world in which they lived, but…one of them living with abandonment burning in the gut was enough. He'd save her from that if he could, as best as he was able.

.

.

Down the street, Elijah Winters wiped his mouth from puking as the implications of Dan Dority's message sank in.

_It was __**his**_**_. _**_He'd be here at first light to discuss it._

And the man wasn't even able to look at him, like he was a worm-ridden corpse already in a box.

Elijah was a born con and cheater, even though he wasn't very good at it. He called for a bottle, then another, as he sat there in his office, lamp unlit, chair facing east. He stroked the Colt like a cherished pet, smooth and cool against his fingers.

When the first rays of sunrise came through the window, he felt a fleeting sense of triumph that he was cheating Swearengen out of his intended revenge. Then, oily barrel in his mouth, he squeezed the trigger, and ceased to feel anything at all.

.

Al thought he heard a faint "pop" in the distance, although it could have been imagination as false dawn faded into sunrise. He turned on his side, pulling Trixie in against him, and laid his arm over her side, hand resting on her stomach. Nose against the nape of her neck, he went back to sleep.

**.**

**.**

**A/N: This concludes this part of the saga. The prequel continues with the next story, soon to be posted. Reviews, concrit, feedback very much welcomed.**


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